


Gear Shift

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Biting, Bruising, Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Marking, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nelson thinks too much. It’s time to break the habit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gear Shift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deltachild](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=deltachild).



> Technically this is NASCAR/WRC RPF but never mind eh XD

Rumours have been flying around for weeks, but today he knows it’s true—Kimi is racing trucks. He’s not content with throwing rally cars across ice and into trees and down ditches; no, he’s coming to the States and he’s trying out a truck for size.

The media scramble to get a reaction from Juan-Pablo, who looks benevolent and offers sage but ultimately useless advice. What could Kimi possibly learn from Juan-Pablo? Kimi is the one who won the WDC, after all. Not that the title translated into wins in the World Rally Championship. A triumph in one series doesn’t mean shit in others. Look at Michael Andretti. Look at Juan-Pablo. Horses for courses.

Nelson turns off his laptop and closes the lid. Gently, until he hears a soft click. He puts it to one side and stares at it. No one asked him what he thought about Kimi coming to NASCAR. No one sought his opinion. Not that he wanted to give Kimi advice. Kimi isn’t the kind of guy who takes advice from anyone, regardless of how senior they are and how many races they’ve won across however many series and formulae.

But still, Nelson wishes someone had thought to ask him anyway, because otherwise it’s like everyone’s forgotten he ever took part in F1.

*

Kimi turns up at Charlotte Motor Speedway with his hair too long and his pale eyes alight with curiosity. The team personnel tow him around, showing him off. Kimi shakes hands, smiles his twisted smile, says very little. Nelson watches him from a distance. He wants to go over and say hi, but he’s uncertain of his welcome. His father urged him to greet Kimi, telling him it’ll be a great photo opportunity that will remind people of his status. Nelson isn’t sure which ‘people’ his father means. American audiences don’t care much about motorsport in other countries, so his father must still be trying to prove a point to those involved in F1.

Nelson wishes his father would give it a rest. It’s okay for him to regret what he did, but his father shouldn’t wear that regret like an injury, shouldn’t keep picking at it and making it bleed.

So Nelson is shy and keeps out of Kimi’s way. Besides, they never really talked much when they were in F1. Kimi barely spoke to anyone. Everyone said his English was worse than Mika’s. Finns, they said, laughing, Finns are so _inarticulate_. Nelson never thought that was true. Nico could talk plenty, he always had something to say, but then, maybe that was because he wasn’t a real Finn.

Nelson doesn’t like thinking about Nico, because it hurts too much. Still. Even after all this time.

He finds refuge in the stands and closes his eyes, imagining the circuit, imagining how he’ll drive it. Upshifts, downshifts, the truck so much heavier than an F1 car, the steering less responsive. It’s like fucking a heavyweight boxer when you’re used to screwing a ballerina. The thought makes him grin.

“What’s so funny?”

The question makes him jump, or maybe it’s the voice that startles him, because he knows that voice; it’s unmistakeable. Nelson opens his eyes and sees Kimi standing one tier down from him, regarding him with the same inquisitive expression he’s worn all day.

“I was just thinking,” Nelson says, and feels stupid, because of course he was thinking, what else would he be doing?

“Thinking. I used to do that once.” Kimi steps over the bench in front of him and settles on the seat beside Nelson. “F1 is not a sport for thinking. Neither is rallying.” He pauses, corrects himself. “Actually, rallying requires even less thought than F1.” Kimi tilts his head, looks at Nelson. “What about truck racing?”

Kimi is asking him for advice. Nelson takes a breath, tries to marshal his words. Nothing comes to mind. He’s blank, completely blank. “Uh,” he says, just to break the silence, “I... It’s...”

Kimi chuckles, leans closer, and taps a finger against Nelson’s forehead. “You’re doing it again. Thinking. Bad for you.” He drops his hand onto Nelson’s shoulder.

“Um,” Nelson says, then stops when a flock of photographers descend on them, swarming in front of the stands. It’s nowhere near the number of photographers in attendance at a Grands Prix, but Nelson is startled all the same. Kimi grips his shoulder, turns him towards the lenses. Automatically, Nelson smiles. Next to him, Kimi laughs.

The photographers move on. Nelson relaxes. His smile is genuine now. “My father will be pleased.”

Kimi leans back on the seat. “That fucker.”

“Sorry?” Nelson can’t quite believe he heard what Kimi just said.

“Your father,” Kimi says, looking at him. “He’s a bastard.”

Nelson’s smile fades. He drops his gaze, looks at his hands. His relationship with his father has always been strained, combative, complicated. But essentially... “Yes,” he says, “he is a bastard.” It feels good to admit it. “He wanted me to talk to you, act as if I was showing you the ropes. Like you need my advice.”

Kimi gives him a peculiarly blank look. “I do need your advice. Otherwise I wouldn’t ask.”

“Right. Yeah.” Nelson remembers they were talking about truck racing, about thinking in truck racing, or not thinking, or something, and he’s confused himself now, and he blurts out: “You really don’t think when you drive?”

“No.” Kimi’s blank expression warms into a smile. “I feel. I don’t think. That’s why I won a championship and you crashed into a wall.”

Nelson blows out a breath. “You think I think too much.”

“Don’t you?”

“I... Yes.” Nelson laughs, a short sound. He scrubs a hand through his hair, dislodging his team cap. “Far too much. Because—”

“Because of your father,” Kimi says, his tone flat and neutral. “Because he is a bastard.”

“Yes.”

They’re silent for a moment, just sitting there. Then Kimi shifts forward, moves closer. His eyes are no longer inquisitive. They’re challenging. Demanding. Wicked. Nelson has seen that look before. Whenever Nico looked at him like that, it meant one thing and one thing only.

Nelson’s breath hitches. His mouth goes dry. Finns, he thinks. They’re not inarticulate. They just don’t communicate with their voice. Right now he has no problem understanding Kimi’s intentions.

Kimi stands. Smiles. “Come with me.”

Nelson follows.

*

Kimi doesn’t have a motorhome, so they find an empty office somewhere in the main building. The sun is on another part of the circuit and they’re in shadow, and this makes it even more exciting. The room smells of paper and photocopier toner. The low buzz of a water cooler breaks the silence. Kimi presses Nelson up against the door and Nelson gasps, anxious and aroused.

“Why?” he asks.

“Why not?” Kimi says, and kisses him. Hard. Wet. At first it’s without finesse—so different to Nico’s kisses—and then, as Nelson returns the embrace, Kimi’s technique alters. Instead of an attack, it’s more like a seduction, Kimi softening his mouth, changing the angle, stroking with his tongue. He’s not thinking, Nelson realises—Kimi’s _feeling_. Feeling his way through the kiss. Feeling Nelson’s responses and adjusting to them, learning from them exactly what Nelson likes best.

This must be the way he drives. Instinctive, reactive. Nelson wishes he could be like Kimi. Wishes he could lose the thoughts that crowd his mind. He breaks free of the kiss, stares at Kimi. “I think—”

“Don’t.” Kimi nuzzles his neck, yanking at the fastenings on the racesuit. Nelson groans, bangs his head back against the door. There’s a line along his neck that’s so sensitive, so ticklish, he almost can’t bear any pressure there. Not a kiss, not a lick, not even a breath. Instinctively, Kimi has found that line. He runs his tongue along it and Nelson squeals, actually _squeals_ , and then he feels ridiculous, but he’s got no time for the sense of ridiculousness to sink in, because Kimi flicks his tongue back and forth along that sensitive line and Nelson makes a sort of grunting, desperate sound and grabs at Kimi to stay upright.

“Mm,” Kimi murmurs against Nelson’s neck, and the hum tingles all the way across Nelson’s skin, shoots down to his cock, and now he’s hard and embarrassed and squirming, rolling his head from side to side. Kimi chuckles and sweeps kisses across Nelson’s throat, lingering on the vulnerable skin just above his collarbone. He licks up the other side of Nelson’s neck, and now Nelson can feel the brush of Kimi’s hair, long and curling slightly at the ends, and it’s caressing his throat as softly as Kimi’s lips are moving over his skin.

“God,” Nelson says, brain short-circuiting. “Fuck.” He says it again in Portuguese, in French, in every language he knows. He doesn’t know what the word is in Finnish. He wishes he did.

Kimi laughs, takes his mouth, kisses him again, tongue hot and demanding. Nelson clings to Kimi’s shoulders, holding him tight. Lust slides, heavy and urgent. Nelson’s breath shortens, climbs higher. He tilts back his head, offering his throat, wanting more. Kimi licks back across his neck, finds that ticklish line again, and settles.

Nelson whimpers. His hips shift. His fingers claw tighter.

Kimi traces kisses up to Nelson’s ear. He dips his tongue into the shell of the ear, bites the lobe. Nelson jerks back against the door, thrusts forward again. He’s burning inside the racesuit, his cock throbbing, hot, needy. He whines as Kimi licks downward. The sound ends in a strangled gasp when Kimi closes his mouth and sucks hard.

Arousal courses through Nelson, thumps at him, makes him dizzy. He can’t move, can’t speak. He feels Kimi’s teeth, feels them scrape over his skin, feels their sharp edges. Anticipation sings in his blood, spirals around his head. He breathes in and in as Kimi exhales, bites down, his nose pressed to Nelson’s neck, his lips mashed around his teeth, biting, biting.

A thin cry trickles into his consciousness, and Nelson realises that it’s him, it’s his voice, and he’s not ashamed. He doesn’t care how obvious he’s being. He wants this, wants Kimi’s teeth in his neck, wants this possession, this marking. Nelson closes his eyes, welcoming the darkness, drinking in the sensation of being claimed. He rubs against Kimi, needing, straining. He wants a hand on his cock. Instead he grinds against Kimi’s thigh, hearing the soft shirring crinkle of the fabric, the scratchy sound of Velcro.

The scent of heat and sex and desperation surround them. Nelson draws it in, lets it out, his breath panting from him. He clutches at Kimi’s shoulders, gripping tight, tighter, lights sparkling behind his closed eyes. He’s almost there, orgasm is within his reach, so close, but he can’t, Nelson realises, he just _can’t_ —not like this, not in his racesuit, and oh God he wants it, he wants it so bad, but he can’t have it—

He gasps, fights for control, and pushes Kimi away.

Kimi steps back, gives him just enough space. Nelson looks down. Kimi’s hard too, his erection tenting out the front of his racesuit. Knowing Kimi, he wouldn’t care if he came in his Nomex. It wouldn’t matter to him in the slightest.

A shade of pain breaks into Nelson’s thoughts. The bruise on his neck throbs. He reaches up, presses a finger to the mark, feels the cool slickness of saliva. Realisation scorches through him—the bruise is high up, well above the collar of his racesuit. It’ll be obvious to everyone, a blatant display of possession. Emotion roils though him, a queasiness in his belly, a hunger. He stares at Kimi.

Kimi smiles his twisted smile, reaches out and fingers the bruise. “How do you think you will explain that to your father?”

Nelson gropes for an answer. “I can’t.”

“No.” Kimi cups Nelson’s face in his hands, kisses him, then says with emphasis, “You won’t.”


End file.
